


The Final Problem (1891)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [127]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Destiel - Freeform, Escape, Fake Character Death, Johnlock - Freeform, Kansas, M/M, Reichenbach Angst, United States
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: John loses his Sherlock.





	The Final Problem (1891)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).



Foreword: Of all the stories which time had enabled me to re-edit, this one shows the greatest change. I set my original retelling at the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, which gave me such an unpleasant feeling when we visited during our Continental trip some years prior. The reason for this was twofold; I did not wish those people associated with the actual location in which Sherlock was torn from me a second time to suffer the infamy of becoming known for such a deed, and I felt that the Helvetic cascades, against which I had felt an unreasoning dread during my visit there, a much more fitting location. Possibly I also felt that changing history in this was helped to distance me from events that came close to breaking me as a man, especially given how happy I was with the events subsequent to the Falls.

+~+~+

The bitter winter chill of that January was matched by the cold vice-like grip around my own heart. I felt certain that some sort of calamity was just around the corner, and I could not look at my friend without an overwhelming sense of foreboding. I went about my business with my senses dulled, going through the motions more than anything else. I knew that Sherlock was striving hard to bring the still-injured Professor Moriarty to justice, and he often arrived home after me looking tired and careworn. Sometimes he even fell asleep on the couch whilst leaning against me, and I had to carry him to his room so that we could sleep in comfort together.

I did not know why, but I felt almost a sense of achievement when we reached the end of that month, and February arrived with an unseasonable but welcome burst of relative warmth. Sherlock had frequent visits from his brother Lucius, but seemed to be making little headway, and I felt his growing frustration. Then the Fitzroy Affair, the fallout from which was documented in the last chapter, finally seemed to offer a chance to take down the vile Professor Moriarty, but I knew instinctively that it would not be that easy, and that in some way he would try to strike back us. Although as the affair went through the courts with a rapidity that was certainly quite unknown in the British legal system, I felt my hopes rising.

I should explain at this point why the case was so important (I could have done so in the last chapter, but I felt that that brave lady, Miss Minnie Warrender, should have that all to herself). It had been Professor Moriarty's grave misfortune that Mr. Edward Fitzroy had been an agent of Miss Charlotta Bradbury, and she had not been pleased at his demise. Annoying that lady was an even more stupid move that rendering the great Queen Molly as Displeased, and Middleton's went from supplying information to Sherlock, to throwing all its weight into securing a conviction against the crime lord (hence the sudden efficiency of the British judicial system). It was one of Queen Molly's ;subjects' who had warned his monarch about Judge Beaufort Warrender having been 'turned', and that message had been swiftly passed onto Sherlock with fatal but deserved consequences for the judge, and to his sister gaining a new life in the New World.

+~+~+

St. Valentine's Day that year fell on a Saturday that year, so I did not expect to have to work, but early that morning a telegram arrived from one of the surgery's newer (and richest) clients requesting my urgent attendance – no clue as to what for, annoyingly – so I packed the bag that Sherlock had given me and set off. I remember that, unusually, he had not emerged from his room by the time I left, even though it was after ten o'clock. I silently cursed this 'Mrs. Lucas”, and promised myself that I would charge her up to the maximum if this proved to be a wasted journey. 

I arrived to the address I had been given which was in Manchester Square, not far from both Dorset Street and Cramer Street. It was an almost palatial residence, and I was immediately shown up to the room by a footman who withdrew rather than enter with me. Unannounced, I stepped forward to meet Mrs. Lucas – and froze.

'Mrs. Lucas' was none other than Mr. Lucius Holmes!

“Huh?” I said eloquently. He rose to his feet.

“Doctor”, he said urgently, “if you value the lives of both your good self and my brother, you will do exactly as I tell you. Both of your lives may depend on your actions in the coming hours.”

Something about the tone of his voice told me that he was deadly serious, and I nodded. He held out his hand, and led me from the room and down the back stairs to a rear exit, where a carriage was waiting. He physically pushed me into it before barking 'Paddington Station' at the driver, who then set off so fast that I almost fell to the floor. My second manic ride to Brunel's terminus in a short time, I thought, as I struggled to regain my balance, except that this time it was seemingly my turn to flee.

“You have been watched ever since you left Baker Street”, Mr. Lucius Holmes said ominously. “We have at best fifteen minutes before they realize they have been duped, but God willing, that should be enough.”

I was beginning to resent being ordered about like this, but I felt a rising sense of fear at the chain of events that was unfolding. We pulled up sharply at the station entrance, and I was again manhandled out and through onto the platform, where the Plymouth Express was just about to leave. Mr. Lucius Holmes hesitated, then pulled open a door to a first-class compartment, threw my bag inside, and all but forced me in. The only other occupant of the compartment was a gentleman reading a newspaper, who surprisingly did not react to my undignified entrance. That was until he slowly lowered the paper and turned a pair of familiar blue eyes on me.

“Hullo, John.”

Sherlock!

+~+~+

“Hullo?” I almost yelled. “Hullo?”

I was apparently turning into a parrot. Sherlock smiled apologetically at me.

“I am sorry for all the subterfuge”, he said, “but it was necessary for the continued existence of both of us. I prefer being alive, and were those monitoring us able to become aware of our plans, I rather believe that they have been ordered to shoot first and ask questions not at all.”

The guard's whistle blew, and the sudden jerk of the carriage almost threw me into him. Overbalancing, I collapsed untidily back into the seat opposite, from which I gaped at him.

“An explanation?” I said weakly. “Please?”

+~+~+

“As you know”, he said, “the Fitzroy Case has proven to be the golden thread that is unravelling Professor Moriarty's evil empire. Despite the best – or worst – machinations of his highly-paid legal team, the case has been hustled through the courts with impressive speed, thanks in large part to the work of our friend Miss Bradbury. One of my opponent's few weaknesses is a rampant misogyny, in that he believes no woman could ever outwit him. I rather think that he may be currently revising that opinion.”

“Mis Bradbury has been hard at work”, he went on. “Not only in 'persuading' certain wheels of our legal system to grind rather faster that they would otherwise – her files on the peccadilloes of that profession are worryingly copious – but also to tighten the net around Professor Moriarty. In the past week, four witnesses to crimes committed by the doctor's men have come to London police stations, and the case against him is ironclad. The only thing keeping his out of the law's clutches right now is the delaying efforts of his own lawyers, and even for them, time is fast running out.”

“And so he turns on you”, I sighed.

“I have been keeping the various witnesses safe”, he said. “Even though we frustrated the Professor's attempts to plant 'obliging' policemen in the East End, as we saw with Judge Warrender, officers of the law can be bought off by someone who will pay any price to save his own neck. But now he has no more cards to play, except for one.”

I had a bad feeling that I knew what that card was.

“Indeed”, he said. “My rival has already been round to Baker Street and threatened revenge for my actions. He said at one point that he would target you, your brother and his family.”

My heart ran cold.

“However”, Sherlock said, “I made it clear that two could play at that game. Moriarty has a family of his own, and I countered that any actions against any Watson would result in his own dear wife and children meeting some very unfortunate and painful accidents within hours of such a happening. We could target each other by all means, but not those close to us.”

I felt a warm feeling at that.

“But then why did he send his men after me?” I asked. 

Sherlock chuckled.

“Doctor”, he said, “my opponent knows that I would never flee from him and leave you behind. How could I?”

If Mankind had managed to get people on the Moon at that time, I was sure that even they would be able to have seen how red I turned.

“I knew that he was planning a move against me”, Sherlock went on. “Miss Bradbury managed to block his employment of the capital's current leading assassin, a Mr. Coborn, by persuading our friend Mr. Bow that such actions would be unwise.”

“How?” I asked.

Sherlock drew a finger across his neck. I shuddered.

“Mr. Bow warned Mr. Middleton – Miss Bradbury, of course – that the professor was looking abroad for someone to kill me”, he went on. “She has few contacts there, but luckily Mr. Marcus Crowley has some in Paris. As we both know, he loathes and fears Professor Moriarty, and working on a tip-off from Mr. Bow, he informed me this morning that my enemy had just employed one of France's leading assassins, a Monsieur LeMesurier, to come to England and kill me.”

I stared at him in horror.

“Fortunately the man in question hates sea-crossings”, Sherlock said, “and was reluctant to even cross the Channel. He will certainly not follow us to another continent.”

They really needed to dust these carriages better, as the dust was making my eyes water.

+~+~+

“We are making good time”, I said as we rattled across the Berkshire countryside. “He cannot catch us now, surely?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Luke's subterfuge may have shaken them off, but they will quickly work out that we are on the Plymouth Express, to connect with the sailing of the “Iberia”. He will follow us.”

“He cannot overtake us”, I said. “Not an express.”

“He will hire a special”, Sherlock said. “Most probably from the London & South Western at Waterloo. If he is quick he may just beat this train to Exeter, and he would certainly reach Plymouth before us. Although Luke has his men on the line to slow him down somewhat.”

I looked at him in alarm.

“Calm yourself, doctor”, he said. “We are not going that far. We shall alight at the Temple Meads station in Bristol, take our own special from the Midland Railway Company that Luke has already arranged, and be in Liverpool in time to catch the “Majestic”. She is the only ship that does not call in at an Irish port, so even if he hires a motor-yacht, he cannot intercept us.”

“Why Luke?” I asked, curiously.

“We met some time back, and it was decided that both Bacchus and Gaylord would be watched by Moriarty's men”, Sherlock explained. “Their involvement in government affairs is fairly well-known, but Luke is far more covert. The newspapers consider him the rebel in the family – hence the nickname 'Lucifer' – and he is known not to live either of our brothers.”

I sighed. My life was suddenly rather too interesting. But at least I still had Sherlock.

+~+~+

It was as Sherlock said. We pulled into Temple Meads precisely on time, and less than fifteen minutes later had our own single-coach train and were steaming rapidly northwards through Gloucestershire.

“How did you evade them at Baker Street?” I asked. I was feeling happier at the turn of events, especially as there was a picnic hamper with us that contained one of Mrs. Harvelle's pies. I would miss those more than most things in England.

“Initially Gaylord dressed himself up as me and lurked around the room”, he explained. “Mrs. Harvelle smuggled me out of the back, after she had made a public display of sending two bags to Victoria Station, to suggest a crossing to the Continent from either Kent or Sussex. Miss Bradbury has an agent going there, to draw off at least some of our pursuers.”

“I hated those blinds that you had put up last month”, I observed. “Ghastly grey things.”

He looked at me pointedly.

“John”, he said slowly, “those are Iron Duke blinds. Designed to deflect gunshots from outside.”

Oh.

+~+~+

We boarded the “Majestic” as Mr. Alexander and Mr. Benjamin Frost, brothers returning to Canada from a trip abroad. The passports provided by Mr. Lucius Holmes looked more genuine than my British one, which Sherlock had brought along with my bag.

“Do you think that Professor Moriarty will follow us across the Atlantic?” I asked worriedly. He nodded.

“It is certain”, he said calmly. “His arrest if he stays in England is only a matter of time. The only revenge that he can take is my life, and he will go through Hell to make sure that he does exactly that.”

I shuddered.

+~+~+

We arrived safely in New York, and checked into a small hotel near the Grand Central Station.

“The first ship that Professor Moriarty can get is the “Fulomar”, and she is not due in for another three days”, Sherlock said. “He is, I think, more likely to lie low for a couple of days extra and then take the “Teutonic”, which is both faster and more comfortable, and would get him here only twelve hours later. He does prefer his comforts. Unless of course he decides that England is too risky.”

“So we have a few days' head start”, I said. “What about the American police?”

Sherlock shook his head.

“Luke said that it would be more efficient to use a private search agency, so he has employed Pinkerton's”, he said. “Unfortunately, until the case officially comes before an English judge, they cannot arrest him over here.”

“What if he manages to kill your witnesses?” I asked worriedly.

“Calm yourself, doctor”, he smiled. “Once Judge Jameson hears the case next week, an arrest warrant can be telegraphed across the Atlantic. Moriarty's fate is sealed. It is only a matter of time.”

+~+~+

On the basis that he would not expect it, we set out next day up the East Coast, calling in at New London and spending the night in Boston.

“Luke will be shadowing Moriarty as he crosses”, Sherlock explained. “Bacchus is creating a Continental diversion, and Gaylord will try to meet us later on.”

I thought of Mrs. Moseley's quote about the brother delivering up the brother unto death, and fretted even more. What if one of them – I immediately thought of the lounge-lizard – could be bought with Professor Moriarty's money? 

We worked our way up into New Hampshire and Vermont, where we stayed at a charming little bed and breakfast in the town of Burlington. It was close to idyllic, if a little cold, and I was sorry to move on. We then proceeded across the upper part of New York State until we reached the town of Buffalo, and I got to see the majestic Niagara Falls. Mr. Lucius Holmes met us there to update us on matters, and with new passports that 're-christened' us as Mr. Peter Woods and Mr. Kenneth Baker, two Canadian businessmen on holiday in the United States.

It was March by this time, and we proceeded along the south coast of Lake Erie until we reached Detroit, which did not impress me at all. Neither did Chicago, and it was there that we had our first scare. Mr. Lucius Holmes arrived at our hotel at one in the morning and told us that we had been recognized, and that Professor Moriarty was sending two men up from Indianapolis overnight. We had to make a silent departure, slipping out to wait several hours at the cold railroad station before we could take the first train south (Lucius Holmes advised that it would not be expected for us to head towards a potential danger, and that because of the railroad timetables, we would certainly pass our pursuers going the other way). 

From then on, we stopped only one night in each place. We moved south to Chattanooga and Birmingham, and met the Gulf of Mexico when we stopped for a night at Mobile, where it was far too hot and humid. Then it was onto Baton Rouge and my first sighting of the mighty Mississippi River, before we turned north and stopped at Little Rock before reaching St. Louis. Here I saw the other great river, the one which gave the prophetess from our last case her name, and I thought of her as we tumbled into our hotel beds for the night. I hoped that she had reached home safely.

The following day, Mr. Lucius Holmes was waiting for us at breakfast with news that despite our efforts, we had been found again, and this time Moriarty's agents were in the same town, or at least just across the river. We left quickly for the railroad station, and were fortunate to catch a train heading west by less than five minutes. 

We spent that night in Kansas City, and I felt exhausted. Whilst I was proud of the British legal system, I wished that they could just find Moriarty guilty, get the Americans to capture him and spare us all this worry. Sherlock seemed calm to the point of being resigned, which worried me even more.

The following day we started early again, and I expected us to cross the state of Kansas at least. But instead we only travelled for about an hour until Sherlock indicated that it was time to leave the train. I alighted at a small town station – and my heart sank. 

We were in Lawrence. The town after which my little brother had been named. 'And the brother shall deliver up the brother unto death'.

I knew. This was it.

+~+~+

Of all the things I had been expecting, the proprietress of the “Welcome Home” guest house was not it.

“Mrs. Moseley!” I gasped. 

She smiled, but I could see the strain in her eyes. Sherlock got slowly off the cart and the two of us retrieved our bags and came inside, where she showed us to our rooms. I did not fail to notice the look exchanged between the two of them before she left us.

“What is going on?” I asked testily. 

He sighed.

“John”, he said slowly, “do you trust me?”

“With all my heart”, I said firmly.

“Then I must ask you to believe in me for now”, he said heavily. “Matters have not worked out as I had hoped, but we may still come through this. Please?”

Now that was unfair, pulling out the kicked puppy look at that point. Especially as I would have caved anyway. I smiled and pulled him into a hug.

“Always and forever, Sherlock”, I said fervently. “Always and forever.”

+~+~+

I woke the next morning feeling both unaccountably cold and unusually drowsy. Sherlock was not in bed with me, which was unusual, but something at the back of my mind was telling me that that was not the worst of my problems. I dragged myself up and went over to the mirror, where I carefully examined my eyes. Just as I suspected. I turned to pull on my dressing-gown to leave the room - and froze.

Sherlock's ring was placed next to mine on the bedside table. The ring that he had worn ever since we had purchased his and mine back in Verona. A cold terror gripped my heart.

I dressed as quickly as I could, forgoing even the weakest attempt at shaving, and hurried downstairs. Somehow I was not surprised to see Mr. Lucius Holmes sat at the breakfast table. He was dressed as a real tourist, right down to the binoculars around his neck. He saw me stumble in, and looked at his watch. As well he might; it was past ten o'clock.

“What did you do?” I almost snarled. I did not care that he was bigger and stronger than me right then; my only thoughts were a growing fear for my Sherlock. 

“I did nothing”, he said levelly, though I noticed that he did seem a little uneasy as he spoke. 

I was not to be so easily deterred.

“All right, what did you get Sherlock to do?” I demanded. “Doctor, remember? I know when someone has slipped me something!”

“This was all his idea”, Mr. Lucius Holmes said, standing up. “If you are ready, perhaps we should go.”

That should have reassured me, but I still felt that something was terribly wrong. Why would Sherlock drug my evening cocoa, and then leave without saying anything? It did not bode well.

+~+~+

A horse and cart was outside ready for us, which was a relief. I had been on a horse but once in my life, and found it absurdly high. It irked me that Mr. Lucius Holmes did not seem inclined to rush and kept looking at his watch for some reason, but I gritted my teeth and said nothing. 

Finally we reached the edge of town, and the entrance to a single-story building that was set slightly apart. I saw that, unusually for this country, the house had a name, and my heart sank still further when I read it.

“Reichenbach”. 

In the distance I saw that a group of men were approaching a building, where a lone figure was sat on a bench outside. It was too far to recognize any of them, but I thought even at this distance that the seated man looked familiar.

“May I borrow your binoculars?” I asked Mr. Lucius Holmes. 

He nodded and handed them over to me, and I focused them until the people came into vision.

The next few seconds seemed to pass painfully slowly, as three things happened almost at once. First, I recognized that the seated figure was my Sherlock. That should have reassured me, but the second thing was that I also recognised one of the men approaching him was Professor James Moriarty, and presumably the six other men were all his. I watched for a moment in shock, then lowered the binoculars to say something to Mr. Lucius Holmes.

The third thing. There was an almighty explosion which shook the cart, even at what must have been over two hundred yards away. The horse whinnied and almost bolted, but Mr. Lucius Holmes held onto the reins, as what had been the house was blown to kingdom come. Debris rained down just a dozen or so yards away, and in a wide area around the ruins. I stared in horror.

“No!” I cried.

I tried to leap off the cart and race through the still falling debris, even though I knew in my heart of hearts that no-one could possibly have survived that explosion. Mr. Lucius Holmes easily restrained me.

“We need to get you away from here”, he said firmly, hoisting himself up into the cart and taking the reins from me. “Gaylord and his men have already dealt with the back-up; fortunately there were just four of them. Let's go.”

“But Sherlock.....” I began.

“No”, he said, sounding almost angry. “I am taking you back to town. We are leaving.”

I was too dumbstruck to argue, and he drove us back to Lawrence in silence.

+~+~+

Mr. Lucius Holmes disappeared once he had deposited me at Mrs. Moseley's guest house in the town – she was kind enough to take me to my room and leave me there - and it struck me as almost comical that I was a man in a foreign country with no money of my own, and completely at the mercy of someone many of whose family regarded me with dislike and distrust. 

And I had lost Sherlock. My Sherlock. The man I loved.

I had dried my face and was in some control of my emotions when Mr. Lucius Holmes returned. The brother closest in appearance to Sherlock, he was taller and bulkier, and his eyes a different shade of blue, but somehow the similarities outweighed the differences, and I felt my terrible loss once more. If he noticed my falling apart, he was mercifully kind enough not to comment on it, although it soon emerged that he had other, more pressing concerns.

“All right, here is how it is”, he said. “The good news is that that bastard Professor James Moriarty is dead, and down there giving Old Nick some serious competition, no doubt. The bad news is that he has six family members scattered across Europe, none of whom are going to take kindly to the fact that someone just eliminated their kid brother. That is, of course, if they find out.”

“What do you mean, if?” I asked testily. “How could they not?”

“The family does not talk much, so the last they know is the court case and his leaving England”, Mr. Lucius Holmes said. “I can make it look like he just drowned or something, anything so that they do not get a body. If they ever do find out, then they will be gunning for you. So if you want to go back to England, it will have to be on the understanding that you may need to repeat this flit again, and at short notice.”

“Can you not do anything about them?” I asked anxiously. 

“Only monitor them through the German, Italian and French police”, he said. “Although if they ever come to England, it will be a different matter. But like this time, we would have you leaving the country the moment they arrived, if not before.”

I snorted a laugh.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

“Your family hates me, yet you just saved my life, and now I may need to trust you with my life at some time in the future”, I smiled. “Thank you, by the way.”

“It was a pleasure”, he said. “I just wish....”

He stopped. I sighed, knowing full well what he had been about to say.

“I know”, I said sadly. “I wish that too.”

He was kind enough to leave me before I broke down.

+~+~+

Next, the dark empty years without the man I had loved more than life itself.

**Author's Note:**

> It gets better.


End file.
